


Vessel

by LoathsomeSinner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Forced Nudity, Forced Pregnancy, Guts - Freeform, Multiple Penetration, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Snuff, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, Throat Fucking, bulging, bursting, unnatural pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 09:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoathsomeSinner/pseuds/LoathsomeSinner
Summary: It was just a dream, it had to be a dream.





	Vessel

He had expected to wake up in a bit of a haze, he’d planned to drink himself into a stupor when he’d went out. Everything had been going wrong in the last few weeks. The woman he had been chasing had run off for greener pastures, his attempt at getting a promotion had only pissed off his employer, and to top it all off his friends had all decided they didn’t want to go out for a drink. Maybe that was a good thing, he’d thought, they couldn’t stop him from getting as drunk as he liked if they weren’t around to nag at him.

He was regretting that choice a bit, though. As one usually did when they went a little too far. His head was full of fog and even his body felt wrong. Perhaps he had stumbled on his way through the streets back home. He didn’t really know, he couldn’t remember much past the first few drinks.

He was cold, too. Had he fallen asleep on the floor, not even made it to his bed? He didn’t feel like he had clothes on, perhaps he had tried and just missed. And there was some god-awful music impinging on his consciousness. Chanting. Did he have some new neighbor who was drunker than he had been? Or perhaps they had been chasing a certain dragon, he’d certainly been tempted enough himself. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so sick to his stomach if he had. But beer was a damn sight cheaper, especially for a man of his station.

But that wasn’t right. The sound was too close, and the chill air was coming from too many places at once. There was no solid, cold floor beneath him. If anything it felt as if he were simply being suspended in mid air, the only points of contact behind his head, at his shoulder blades and lower back, at his ankles. There was pressure on his wrists as well, and as he finally managed to open bleary eyes he saw that they were held in front of him, as if in supplication.

A sudden chill went down his spine, and the sudden surge of adrenaline did wonders for clearing his head. It cleared it enough for him to realize that it wasn’t all the way clear, there was something still fogging his brain and his body, making it hard to think, hard to move. The restraints helped with that as well. He looked down and confirmed what he’d already thought, he was naked, and his legs were suspended in such a way that he was held open. His eyes widened, then his mouth opened in shock as well.

He tried to call out, to swear, to do anything, really, but all that came out was a formless, if distressed sigh of breath.

He looked around more and saw people. No faces, they were all covered in low hoods. They were the ones who were chanting. It was like something out of a novel. Kidnapped, strung up naked in the middle of a circle of cultish freaks. This couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be.

He was dreaming. A nightmare, sure, and one he wouldn’t have thought he could come up with on his own, but it had to be. It would explain the strange way his body felt, numb and at the same time almost painfully aware of each of his own movements, the way it moved him in the air.

He looked around and saw below him a chasm of emptiness, a deep circle of pure black. Nothing like that could exist in reality. A dream. A dream.

The chanting slipped in and out of sense, sometimes the words were incomprehensible, clearly not english, but sometimes.

“-this vessel, the bearer of your unholy seed, we offer him-”

Another chill ran through him, and his breath came faster. If it was a dream, he didn’t want to be in it any longer. He willed himself to wake. Begged himself to wake in his own mind.

Instead he saw something beginning to emerge from the blackness, long tendrils, dripping with the dark as if it was a liquid. But he was stunned from even being able to think as the sight brought with it a flurry of sensation. His fear spiked, catching his breath in his throat, but at the same time a heat pulsed through him, making him gasp a moment later.

Lust, more powerful than he’d ever felt it before, so strong it didn’t feel like something from within him, couldn’t be. His cock twitched into life with startling speed, growing to fullness in a matter of moments. And all the while the tendrils moved upwards, reaching for him.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up, **wake up.**_

He didn’t. The first of the tendrils reached him and his body convulsed.

_"G…God…"_

The word was a soft whisper, and he didn’t know what emotion it betrayed. Was it awe, disgust, lust, fear, rapture? The touch was almost more than he could bear, and it seemed like it was already too much for his body. An orgasm ripped through his body, all at the slightest touch of this… _Thing_. Tears of humiliation and fear welled in his eyes and it was all made worse for knowing that he wanted more.

More of the tendrils touched him, answering the silent plea of his body. They caressed him gently, sending fire through every nerve. Eventually one made its way around his cock, beginning to move there as well, driving him to a second orgasm within mere moments. The blackness stuck to his skin, cold but tingling, a reminder of every slight touch. He wished he were covered in it.

His body stretched and moved with a will of its own, hips pushing up against a touch, toes curling in ecstasy. His mind rallied against it, but couldn’t stand under the strain. It was too much, too pleasurable. Maybe even if it was real it was alright. Maybe even if he was being watched, humiliated, it was worth it.

But a hint of sense came back to him as one of them moved up to his lips, almost slipping into his mouth before he suddenly snapped it shut. The fear came back and he realized it had never gone away in the first place. It still had him, it was just being won over by the pleasure.

The tendril paused, for all the world seeming a little confused by the sudden denial. It pressed against his lips and found teeth barring entrance. It couldn’t force its way in, and it was a small, pointless victory, but it felt like a victory nonetheless.

It didn’t last, of course it didn’t. Whatever was beneath him would not be denied so easily as that. He felt another of the tendrils, slick and a little cool, slide between his thighs. Here it moved without hesitation, and he was helpless to stop it as it pushed inside of him, sliding in fast and deep. The pleasure was sudden and immense, and in the moment he was lost. His mouth opened again, another sigh, or a moan, or perhaps a half-thought prayer.

But whatever it was had no time, because the tendril at his mouth was just as eager. It slipped into him, filling his mouth with the taste of salt and brackish rot. He gagged, but it pushed deeper, past his throat, into it, filling it. He could breathe, but only barely, and only because the tendril didn’t seem to be getting any thicker. Because it was still moving, as was the one down lower, both pushing into him with relentless determination. His body offered no real resistance, the tendrils slick with that dripping blackness, and that heat burning through him that made it feel so good.

_Surrender_, the pleasure told him, _give yourself, body and soul._

Some part of him still fought, but it wasn’t his body. That was plaint and willing, his hips and cock twitching with each new pleasure as the tendrils shifted ceaselessly both within him and without.

His eyes shifted around, moving from one figure to the next, but they were unmoving, uncaring. They chanted their twisted song and ignored the desperation in his eyes. But of course there was no sense in seeking help from them, even in the middle of all of this he knew enough to know they had brought this upon him.

He could feel the tendril that had entered him first still twisting inside him, slipping into him with a distressing speed. It seemed like more had gone into him than could possibly fit, but he could feel every inch of it as it twisted its way through his guts. Deeper and deeper, it seemed there was no end to it or to his own depths.

The other was slower, it had made its way to his stomach now. It was filling him there, too, filling him as if he had suddenly eaten a large meal. All in a single bite. The thought might have brought him to hysterics if he could have laughed. 

Surely it had nowhere to go. It couldn’t possibly go any deeper. But just as he was thinking that he felt it push. Pushing against somewhere that it wasn’t supposed to go. He felt the first twinges of pain, then, and as it rapidly deepened he came to understand that this wasn’t a dream. The pleasure could have, he’d had plenty of dreams of fucking before, but pain, especially pain like this, so new and unthought of by man?

The panic flared again, then another push. It broke through whatever resistance it had met and pushed onward, deeper and deeper, followed by a new pain as the acid in his stomach broke through with it. He realized only a few moments before it happened that the tendrils were bound to meet somewhere in the middle. It was almost a relief, surely they would stop when there was nowhere else for them to go. 

He was almost right. They did settle, deep within him, and though the pain was still there it did not grow until he felt more pushing at his thighs. One after the other more of them entered him, stretching him without a hint of mercy. At first it was uncomfortable, then painful, then he felt something tear and he would have screamed if he could. Still they came, more and more pushing into that broken opening, until he was sure they were as thick as his own leg combined.

And each of them began that horrible descent into his body. Slower now than the first but that was no mercy. And he could see it happening now. He was helpless but to watch as they pushed into him. His stomach had already grown from the first alone, now he was forced to watch as they all made their way into him, a bulge that pushed the skin of his stomach up into a grotesque distortion. It felt too tight, the passage they were using far too small for their coming and it wasn’t long before he felt something else rip inside of him.

His body convulsed, and to his horror he saw himself cum yet again. Felt the pleasure even if it was being beaten down by this sudden and all-consuming pain. His stomach was splattered with cum and black ichor, and he watched as one of the tendrils trailed along his stomach, stroking him fondly through the mess.

And all through it his stomach began to roll and turn, the tendrils free of his guts now, able to spill into him without opposition. And so his abdomen grew, and grew, his skin becoming unbearably tight against the pressure from within and he knew it was only a matter of time before that too burst.

He knew he would cum when it did.

But when it seemed on the brink, they slowed, then stopped, at least enough to keep him from bursting like a tick. They still shifted within him, sliding across each other, making patterns in the distortions of his stomach. The pain was still immense, but so was the pleasure. And both made him want it to keep going. One so that it would be over, the other because he was so close, so close…

He saw movement in the tendrils, and saw with equal parts dismay and delight that they were getting thicker, a lump traveling through each one that he could see. They pressed through his entrance, through his mouth and throat.

_'bearer of your unholy seed'_

The words came unbidden to his mind and he understood. The creature, whatever it was, was about to cum inside of him. To fill him even more.

It happened in a wave, crashing down upon him and driving all sense from his mind. He had closed his eyes and so he felt rather than saw a second pulse. A third. Pumping him with load after load. His body simply couldn’t take it.

He came as he felt his stomach rip, his eyes helplessly opening again to see it happen. There wasn’t much red to see, instead a river of black all but exploded from within him. Then the tendrils pushed out of him in a sudden spill, all twisted together and still squirming. 

He came again. He was dying.

The tendrils moved again, still emptying their seed even though they were no longer fully inside of him, he felt them push into him further, rising up above him and spraying blackness down upon his body. One came down to caress the side of his face, the tender touch of a lover.

His eyes were losing what little focus they had left, but still the dueling sensations beat at his mind. Pleasure. Pain. Pleasure. 

The last won out as he slipped out of consciousness, his body giving one last orgasm to chase him to sleep.

* * *

He woke, drenched in sweat, but nothing else. He was lying in his bed, his legs tangled in sheets. Naked, but he always slept like that.

A dream.

That’s what he told himself as he rolled back over, trying to will himself back to sleep.

A dream, that was all.

Never mind the soft squirming he had felt in his gut since he stirred.

Never mind the taste of salt on his lips.

It had to be a dream, to think anything else would be to invite madness. And to think anything else was to invite the knowledge that he wanted it again.


End file.
